


I Want to be a Real Boy Protocol

by paytontanner



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, teenagers being teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 00:57:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14989277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paytontanner/pseuds/paytontanner
Summary: Okay, so maybe Peter hadn’t thought this through. He saw the beam of green light shooting into the sky, the blast of a loud explosion and the resounding clatter of chunks of concrete, and leaped into action. Literally, tossed the energy drink he had been sucking down to the side and jumped from his perch atop the billboard he had been sitting on. He’s a superhero, something bad happens, he reacts. It’s his intuition, his nature, his duty.How much more thinking really needs to go into that?--Peter springs into action, as he's apt to do. Mr. Stark must save him, as he's apt to do.





	I Want to be a Real Boy Protocol

Okay, so maybe Peter hadn’t thought this through. He saw the beam of green light shooting into the sky, the blast of a loud explosion and the resounding clatter of chunks of concrete, and leaped into action. Literally, tossed the energy drink he had been sucking down to the side and jumped from his perch atop the billboard he had been sitting on. He’s a superhero, something bad happens, he reacts. It’s his intuition, his nature, his _duty_. 

How much more thinking really needs to go into that?

With a deep grunt, and the feeling of something tearing in his shoulder, he pushes a large block of concrete out of the crumbled entrance of the building. 

“Excuse me,” he coughs, waving his hand around to clear the dusty powder hanging in the air. “I don’t think Mr. Avincelli takes customers at -” Peter groans as he glances at the digital projection of the clock in his spider suit, “ _ten thirty_. Man, I got homework to finish and May set curfew at -”

A high pitch frequency assaults Peter’s ears as a green light emits from somewhere behind a check-out lane to flash dangerously millimeters to the left of his abodomen. 

“Whoa,” Peter easily clings to the ceiling, quickly crawling to find a better angle to the perp. “That’s a serious lightsaber you’re playing with, Darth Vader. Do you really think a deadbeat like you should have something that,” Peter swoops down and plucks the small device from the man’s shocked hands, “cool?”

The masked perp scoots back, the utterance of a phrase stuttering from his lips. “You’re that - that spider thing from -”

“Man,” Peter corrects, examining the gun. 

“What?” 

“Man. I am spider _man_.” Peter sets the gun on the counter and turns to face toward the man. “And you’re robbing Mr. Avincelli’s grocery store in my neighborhood. Big mistake, sir.” 

Peter’s taken off guard with just how easily the perp gives up. He doesn’t put up much of a fight at all as Peter webs him into a spin of locked wrists, knees, and ankles. “Look, I know times are tough,” Peter uses a web to carefully drag the man closer to the destroyed entrance, “but you can’t just go robbing nice people’s grocery stores and crushing buildings. Mr. Avincelli is a nice man, and he makes these great chicken parm subs with this homemade sauce that - and now who knows when I will get one again.? Peter runs a hand through his hair and points forlornly at the cracked deli counter. “Look what you’ve done to Mr. Avincelli’s counter. You know what man? You deserve jail just for -”

Peter hears the familiar high pitch ringing assault his ears before the blast hits him in the chest and throws him back into the wall behind him. A different ringing rattles his brain as his head cracks against the wall and his body slumps to the ground. 

“What the hell is-” he tries to sit up, but an exploding ache in his head keeps him heavy on the dusty floor.

Two identical forms march toward him, both holding the gun Peter had abandoned on the counter, and both wearing an identical mask to the captured perp. It’s not until Peter finally manages to pull himself off the ground and reach out toward one of the figures in a daze that he realizes he’s seeing double. 

By the time his web shoots clear through the vision two feet to the right of the actual perp, another blast reverberates through his chest, sends him crashing through a window and into the last standing pillar by the entrance, and knocks him out as the rest of the heavy concrete structure crumbles atop him.  


\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Peter wakes up glad to be alive. There’s a heaviness around his head which an exploration of his fingertips reveal to be a wrapping of gauze and as his hand runs down his face he feels the swell of a swollen lower lip and the small but plentiful knicks and scratches coating his arms and chest. 

It speaks to just how hard he hit his head that he doesn’t immediately recognize his surroundings. The dark interior, high tech screens, and windows, and lights, and well, the high tech _everything_. It’s when he realizes just where he’s at that he feels very decidedly much less glad to be alive. Certainly, death must be better than the very imminent future that awaits him. 

“Shit,” he groans, with the realization hitting him harder than the wall he flew through earlier. Peter slowly, but determinedly, sits up. Allowing his vision to steady, he carefully slides off the bed, delicately pulling on the neatly folded shirt waiting for him, and stifles a groan as his toes touch the floor despite the aching protest of his body. 

With practiced, and what he hopes are graceful steps, Peter tiptoes lightly from the room while picking up his tossed aside spider suit and backpack along the way. He’s _almost_ made it. He thinks if he can _just_ get free of this room, then somehow he can get back to Queens unscathed. He can deal with just the wrath of May, or at least he can survive it. The wrath of an angry Mr. Stark, on the other hand, he’s not quite sure - 

“Oh no,” Peter feels the tingle of warning on his neck seconds before he hears the opening of a sliding door somewhere behind him. 

“Oh, good,” the voice chirps lightly in what is clearly veiled sarcasm, “the boy wonder is alive and well.” 

Peter calculates his chances of still managing to escape. It takes him just a second to realize he doesn’t stand a chance. Swiping a weary hand down his face, he slowly turns around, both to prolong the forthcoming conversation and because his head spins with every unplanned movement. 

“ Mr. Stark, look, I can explain. I had it all handled -”

“I don’t need an explanation, kid.” 

“- there was a lightsaber and I thought just one perp, but then there was another. Just one of nowhere! Wham! There's two. Or, I saw three. And I just -" 

“Oh, good, you’re explaining.”

“ - I just needed a minute to recover and then-then I would’ve had both of them because I did have one of them. So -”

Tony waits a beat, fiddles with one of his screens, and allows Peter to fidget nervously in the quiet room. 

The older man glances over his shoulder, “And the two that were in the back?” he asks. 

Peter face contorts into a look of confusion and mutters, “In the back…” quietly before he quickly masks it behind a shrug. 

“Of course, the guys in the back, I had them locked down.”

“Locked down?” Tony mocks, but it’s without much bite. He finally turns away from the screen and takes Peter by the arm to lead him back up onto the table. “That would’ve been quite a feat for someone with a broken rib, concussion, large skull laceration, and sprained shoulder. Even for a wonder boy. Or, should I say _man_.” 

Peter lets his head drop back on the table heavier than intended with the realization. “You played back the footage -”

Tony murmurs in the affirmative, carefully unwrapping the bandages around Peter’s head. “Well, what, with me getting an emergency interception from Karen that you were unconscious and on a night _I_ was told you would be studying at Ned's. I was a bit alarmed. 'Did you and Ned dispute over Legos?' I wondered. Or, had MJ finally done away with you, as she so often promises? Did you -”

“Okay, I get it, Mr. Stark.” Peter interrupts trying to sit up but being pushed back down as a wet rag is dabbed to his forehead. “It’s just you and May always get so worried when I am out patrolling. I thought what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you.” 

Peter’s a bit surprised by the light red of old blood that stains the wet rag. He's sure he could not have hit his head _that_ hard.

“Honestly, Mr. Stark,” Peter props himself up on his elbow as Tony turns his back briefly, “I wasn’t -” 

“Parker, I can have my suit on in eight seconds flat and I will use it if you don’t lie down on this table and stay still.” 

With a small nod, Peter does just that. “Mr. Stark, Ned and MJ do stuff all the time without telling their parents. Last week Ned went to see _SOLO_ but Mrs. Leed’s thought he was at the library.”

“A rebel -” Tony grabs a large band-aid to replace with the soiled gauze. 

“I’m serious, Mr. Stark. I just - I’m just being,” Peter pauses, searching for the right word, “being normal.”

Finally, the uncharacteristically calm and leveled Tony scurries away as a surge of panic and anger takes hold. “You’re _not_ normal! Kid, you’re far from normal.” 

“I know but -”

“No, you don’t know. You very much _do not know_ , Parker.” Tony walks away, trying to curb the harshness of his voice, but controlling his emotions has never been a skill of his. “I watched the playback. You rushed into action, didn’t know how many guys there were or what you were dealing with, you tossed the perp’s weapon off to the side. I mean Parker, kid, what was your plan?”

“My plan was to take the guy down!”

Tony makes a loud buzzing noise, “Nope! Wrong answer.” He carefully places the band-aid over the remarkably well-healed cut running along the side of Peter’s forehead. “Your plan, Peter, is to stay alive.”

“But I’m spiderman.”

“No, you’re a kid and spiderman, in that order. And you know why in that order? Because _you_ didn’t have a plan.”

Peter grumbles begrudgingly, but it takes just a minute for the teenage angst and pity to subside before he sees the point. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I should have told you and May that I was patrolling. And I should have a had a plan.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry, Pete. I want you to be better.” Tony groans at that, rolling his eyes, “Christ, I sound like my dad. That’s what you do to me, kid. You _turn me into my dad_.” 

Peter smiles bashfully, waits for a nod from the man before popping off the table with a lot more stability and spring than earlier. 

“Happy’s waiting to take you home out front.” Tony wipes his hands with a clean rag and nods toward the door. “I told May you were staying the night here, but next time I am telling her exactly - oomf.”

Tony groans as Peter knocks into him with enough force to push him back a step. His hands wrap around Tony’s abdomen long enough for Tony to just reach down and rest a hand on the boy’s head before he’s leaning back. 

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. Thanks so much. You’re the best, Mr. Stark. And I will do better from now. I promise to -”

“Alright,” Tony groans happily, tossing the rag to his side and leading Peter out the door. “Save it for a crowd, kid. _You're the best, Mr. Stark. I'm so gratful, Mr. Stark. Cap is nothing compared to you Mr. Stark_ -”

“I never said -”

“You didn’t have to.” Tony walks through the front doors, stopping outside where Happily grumpily sits waiting for the teenager. “Now, give me a few weeks before you try to kill yourself again. I am getting too old for all,” he waves his hand obnoxiously in Peter’s general direction, “ _this_.” 

Peter chuckles, the smile stretching across his entire face, and his eyes shining brightly. “You got it, Mr. Stark. Thanks again! I mean it, you’re really the -”

Happily, thankfully, interrupts the boy with a honk and Peter takes the clue and hops into the car. 

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Peter waits for something more. He expects Mr. Stark to change his mind. To send some serious, tie-wearing man to pluck his suit right out of his grasp, or to tell him that he won’t be there the next time spiderman gets into trouble; that he’s done. Over. Finished. Instead, Peter hangs on to the feeling of assurance that Mr. Stark has his back and seemed to lean into his hug slightly even if he would never admit it.  
It’s not until Peter steps back into his suit the next night for a few hours of patrol before bed that he realizes that maybe he is just as naive as everyone tells him. 

“Good evening, Mr. Parker. Please tell me the five digit key and I can happily unlock all your suit’s abilities.” 

“What?” Peter croaks, “No, no, no, Karen! I don’t know the code. I was never given a -”

“This is the new ‘I want to be a real boy’ protocol.”

Peter groans loudly, resting back defeatedly on the alley wall behind him. 

“Should I call Mr. Stark for you, Peter?” 

“What! No? I will - just let me guess -”

“Now calling Mr. Stark.” 

“Karen! ”


End file.
